


pulse

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: She screamed. "Why can I see through you?!"He crossed his arms. "I don't know, maybe because I'm a ghost?"She snorted. "Oh yeah, I forgot."Or the one where they're like, kind of ghosts.





	1. Bellamy

**Author's Note:**

> this was rushed sorry

The screams were deafening, and he knew his voice was one of them.

The plane jerked to the right and the pilots voice came over the intercom. "Please remain calm, everything is under control."

He gripped the arm rests only to find someone's hand already there. It was her, her eyes were panicked and wide. A sob escaped her mouth when she looked out the window, saw the trees coming alarmingly close.

"Look at me, hey, look at me." He grabbed her hand, and held it to his chest. Her throat bobbed.

Her squeezed her hand tighter. "We're gonna be ok, we're gonna be ok." He repeated it again and again until she nodded and took a deep breath.

Her face was the last thing he saw before there was an earth shattering crash, and the world went black.

\---

_Ten hours earlier_

"This is my cab!" She said, stabbing a finger into the seat for emphasis.

He glowered. "I got here first! This is my cab!"

She gaped. "No, you did _not!_ I did!"

The cabbie spoke up. "Actually, technically you both got here at the same time—"

" _Shut up._ " They said in unison, not breaking eye contact with each other.

She leaned back and crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving."

He crossed his, too. "Neither am I."

The cabbie sighed and stuck the key in the ignition. "Destinations?"

They replied at the same time. "Ark Airport." They glared at each other.

The cabbie glanced between both of them, and sighed. "This is going to be a long ride." He muttered.

\---

_Five hours earlier_

He found his seat on the airplane and sat down, only to have someone sigh loudly in his ear. "You again."

And there she was, blonde hair falling in her face and blue eyes narrowed.

He smirked. "Me again."

She huffed and turned toward the window, making a point in ignoring him. His smirk turned lazy as he settled against the seat, taking up much more room than necessary. She squirmed away from him and he knew he had won.

\---

_Two hours earlier_

She waved around her drink drunkly and he ducked to narrowly escape being hit in the face. "I just don't understand _why_ she cares so much? It is my life after all. I mean, yes, _obviously_ , she created that life, but that was her choice, and she had to have _known_ it was going to be a bumpy ride. Kids aren't just lollipops and rainbows, you know. They are hard work, first it's the diapers, then it's the boys and then it's—" she frowned. "—what was my point again?"

"Why does she care so much about what you do with your life." He supplied, scooping up some of her fancy rich people chocolate into his hand.

She waved her drink around again. "Exactly! I just want to be able to sketch and sleep, that's really all I want out of life."

He choked out a laugh. "Way to set the bar, princess."

She grinned as if he had just gave her a grand compliment. "Thank you."

\---

_Five minutes earlier_

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously, I won."

Her jaw went slack. "Uh uh! You blinked first!"

He sat up, ready to defend this very insulting accusation. "You're still drunk! Everything moves in slower time for drunk people! I won!"

"It does not! Excuse me, miss? Tell me, which one of us do you think would win in a staring contest? Me, right? It's me."

He was absolutely appalled. "First of all, you can't bring in a total stranger! That is not how this works! And second of all," he turned to the stewardess. "It's obviously me, right?"

She smacked him. "Turn off your sex charm! I'm drunk and I don't have access to mine!"

They both dissolved into giggles at the stewardesses gaping mouth.

The plane tilted, and the ground came up to greet them.

\---

His ears were ringing.

And his face hurt.

He cautiously touched his cheek, but it felt smooth and unharmed. He sat up, and screamed.

His body was lying a few feet away, there was a large gash on— _His? My? What the fuck_ —face. If he let his eyes drift down, he could see something white on his leg. He gagged when he realized it was bone.

He scrubbed his face. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

He jerked his head to the right, searching for the source of the voice.

His eyes landed on blonde hair, crouched over more blonde hair. There were two of her, just like there were two of him.

He crawled over to his body and hesitated, before brushing his fingers over the wound in his cheek. "Are we dead?" His voice wasn't as scared as he expected it be, more curious than anything.

She pushed the hair out the other hers face and touched her neck, checking for a pulse he assumed. He did the same, and found one, but it was much too faint for his liking.

She flopped back onto her butt, stretching out her legs. "Well, I'm not dead. But there's two of me, so I'm still freaking out a little."

He sat back, too. "Maybe it's an out of body experience."

She shook her head. "Why would we be having it together? That doesn't make sense."

He shrugged. "Maybe it does. What other reason is there that no body else has two of them?"

He hadn't wanted to mention the pile of bodies that surrounded them, but he figured he might as well get it out of the way. She glanced around too, and bit her lip.

Then her eyes lit up, and she looked at him. He leaned forward, intrigued. "What? What is it?"

"What if, when we held hands, it linked us? It sounds crazy but—"

He shook his head. "No, no. It makes sense. No one else was touching, so they're alone, but we got knocked out? Together." He said, then groaned, it didn't make any sense at all.

She worried her lip. "Or maybe, we're the only ones alive, and that's why there's no one else."

He ran a hand over his face, she was probably right. "Yeah, sounds accurate."

She got up then, and started walking away. "Hey! Where are you going?" He yelled, then scrambled up after her.

She picked through the trees, allowing every single branch to come back and hit him in the face. He growled at the back of her head.

She stopped suddenly, and he ran into her back. He threw his hands up in frustration. "Could you _please_ give a guy some warning—"

She didn't say anything, just grabbed his chin, and forced him to look in front of him. His eyes widened. "Oh hey look, a plane."

She hummed, and let of his chin with a jerk. She walked toward the hunk of metal, and he mimicked kicking her.

The plane was basically destroyed, the whole side of it was ripped off. Which would explain why they all fell out so far away from it. "How'd you find it?" He asked, jogging after her.

She yanked open the door and stepped inside. "Followed the trail of debris." She answered, like it was obvious. "Come on, there must be a radio in the cockpit."

He nodded, and followed when she jumped over a few mangled seats to get to the front of the plane.

She stopped to dig though a cabinet, and smiled triumphantly when she pulled out a first aid kit.

She pulled open the cockpit door, and froze. He looked over her shoulder and saw why.

The pilot had the control stuck in his abdomen, and his eyes were stuck open.

Bellamy moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but she stepped away towards the radio before he had the chance. "You know what I've never understood about ghost movies?"

He leaned against the door jam, pointedly not looking in the pilots direction. "What?"

She fiddled with the radio from her seat. "Why they never fall through the floor."

He smiled. "Is that what you think we are? Ghosts?"

She shrugged. "Seems likely."

"But we aren't dead. Or, the other us aren't dead." He frowned.

"So? What do we really know about ghosts? What does anyone?"

He sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Ok, say you're right, how come we can touch things? How come we aren't transparent?"

She gave him a look. "Again, what do we know about ghosts."

He was about to list off all the documentaries about ghosts that he had watched, and the proven information that they had, but then the radio sparked to life.

She squeaked and began to speak into it. "Hello? Hello, this is plane 100987, we've crashed, please come in. Over."

There was nothing but static for a moment, then, "Hello, is someone there?"

She relayed her message, but the person on the other end showed no sign of hearing it. "Hello? Is anyone there? Jim, are you hearing this?"

Another mans voice came over the radio. "It just sounds like screaming. Hello? Come in, come in, over."

She and Bellamy stared at each other, neither of them sure what was going on. He abandoned his position near the door to lean over the motherboard. "Hello, this is flight 100987, over."

"I don't know Harold, must be some kids messing with it. Cut the connection."

Bellamys eyes widened. "No!"

But they had already disconnected. He sighed, and stepped away, walking back towards the door.

He noticed she hadn't followed. "Clarke, come on. Let's just go."

She didn't move. "We're gonna die out here."

He quickly shook his head and made his way back over to her, kneeling in front of her. "Hey, we're gonna be fine. Look at me."

Slowly, her eyes met his. Gingerly, he took her hand in his. "We're gonna be fine."

She opened her mouth to answer, but that was all he saw, because suddenly he was blind. There was white light flashing all around him, but it wasn't flashing, it was solid. He felt himself fall, felt Clarke let go of his hand, and the light disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, willing the burning sensation to leave. "What the fuck was that?"

Clarke shook her head. "I don't know, it was so bright—"

He looked around, blinking. "I think my retinas are burnt."

"—but when I let you go, it stopped."

He looked at her, thinking. "You think that's what it was? Us touching was the trigger?"

She stood. "Your guess is as good as mine. Let's go, I want to tend to our bodies."

He stood as well, and followed her out the door. "Bet you thought you'd never say that sentence."

\---

Clarke accessed their wounds, and Bellamy thought aloud.

He frowned. "Our voices can't be heard, but we can manipulate objects—"

"Just say move." Clarke muttered.

"—we're solid, and we can't walk through things. We don't have any wounds on us, and judging by the amount of times you hit in me in the _face_ with _branches_ —"

"I didn't know you were walking so close behind me!" She exclaimed.

"—and there's not a scratch on me, we can't get wounded. And—"

"Every time we touch there's a blinding white light." She supplied.

He kicked out at her. "I'd really like to be able to finish a sentence some day."

She sighed. "Sadly, that day is not today."

He rolled his eyes, and scooted forward to where they had dragged their bodies. (Clarke had a much more difficult time than him, continuously muttering, "Jesus, go to the fucking gym you piece of lard.") "How are we?"

She wiped her hands on her jeans. "Better shape than I initially thought. You have a nasty gash on your face that needs stitches, and my collarbone is shattered. We both hit our heads pretty hard, so I'm guessing we also have concussions."

He choked out a laugh. "And you think this is better? What did you think'd be wrong with us before?"

She ticked off every possibility on a finger. "Broken ribs, internal bleeding, blood clots, punctured lungs from the broken ribs—"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Ok! Ok! I get it."

She blew the few wisps of hair that had escaped her braid out of her face. "Good. Now hand me a needle and thread."

He did as he was told, and sat cross legged beside her to watch.

She applied salve the a few wounds on her stomach, then set her arm so her collarbone could heal properly. Her hands didn't shake, she didn't hesitate, wondering what she should do next. She was good at this.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" He asked, leaning in as she took her blood pressure.

"I was in premed for a year."

He heard the warning in her voice, telling him to leave it at that. He ignored it. "Was?"

She gathered her things and crawled over to where his body laid. "Yes, was."

He was going to ask _why, was,_ but there was a sharp pain in his cheek and he yelled, cutting himself off.

Clarke was in front of him in seconds. "What? What? What is it?"

He touched his cheek, the same one that was paining when he'd first woke up.

He furrowed his brows. "Did you just give other me stitches?"

"Yeah... why?"

He held up a finger for her to wait, and he reached over and pinched other hers arm. Clarke yelped in pain, then widened her eyes in realization.

"What the hell." She breathed.

He shook his head in disbelief. "When I was hauling my body around, I didn't feel anything—"

She pulled at the end of her braid. "And when I was treating my wounds, it didn't hurt me." She groaned. "Goddammit, being a ghost is way more complicated than the movies make it seem."

He laughed, and laid down, tossing his forearm over his eyes. "Go do my stitches, I'll try to keep my screams muffled."

He heard her crack her neck. "See to it that you do, some of us have important work to accomplish."

He waved a hand dismissively. "You just make sure my face stays pretty boy material."

She mumbled something about it never being that kind of material in the first place, and he kicked her.

\---

He was there one minute, and then suddenly, he flickered out of existence. He was just, gone.

He couldn't move, or think, or scream. He was stuck.

Then he was back, gasping for air, as Clarke touched his face. When he looked up at her, her eyes were shiny with tears. "You—You died. The other you, and you disappeared and—and I thought y—you wouldn't come back and—" She took a shaky breath, and hiccuped.

He sat up, and pushed the hair out of her face. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. You brought me back, I'm ok now."

She nodded, and wiped at her tears. "I hate being a ghost."

He smiled. "Really? Because I was under the impression that you never wanted it to stop."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him. "You're welcome for saving your life, dickhead."

\---

"Do ghosts eat?" He wondered aloud.

She paused in her flower crown creating. "I don't know. Do you feel hungry?"

He sat up to think about it. "Hm, I guess not."

She turned back to her flower crown. "There's your answer then."

He flopped back down in the grass. "There really should be a manual or something."

She snorted. "A manual on ghosts?"

He threw a piece of grass in her general direction. "Yes. Exactly that."

"Anyone who's been a ghost probably died, or went to the other side, and didn't have the chance to write one."

He shrugged. "Or, no one else has thought of it except me."

She gave him a look and shook her head. She beckoned him to come closer, and she plopped the crown onto his head.

"Prince of the forest." She said, examining her work.

He flicked her nose. "Prin _cess_ of the forest, thank you."

She nodded sarcastically. "Ah, my bad."

\---

He paused in his wood gathering to yell at her across the clearing. "What if we just left?"

She stopped carving to furrow her brows at him. "What do you mean?"

He dropped his wood and jogged over, then sat in front of her. "It's been a week, no ones coming for us. We're obviously in comas, we should leave. I am really getting sick of these trees."

She fiddled with the knife she'd found in someone's luggage. ("Clearly, the security is doing a grand job at keeping us alive.") She sighed. "What if someone comes while we're gone?"

He gave her a look. "You think we're gonna be able to tell them what happened?"

She huffed. "No."

"Exactly, let's go, find our families, get some closure."

"What if we die?" She said, exasperated.

He sighed. "You can only bring us back so many times, Clarke. We might as well do what we can _while_ we can."

She pushed a hand through her hair, then sighed, giving up. "Fine, let's go."

He grinned and got up, offering her a hand. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to catch up with what he was doing. He quickly took his hand back. "Oh yeah, right."

\---

She screamed. "Why can I see through you?!"

He crossed his arms. "I don't know, maybe because I'm a ghost?"

She snorted. "Oh yeah, 'forgot that was a thing."

He glanced down at himself, he was looking strangely transparent. "How long have we been walking?"

"I don't know, a day or so."

He flexed his fingers. "Do you think it's because of the proximity to our bodies?"

She squinted at him through her hand. She sighed. "Fuck. Yeah."

He snorted. "Do you think we should be freaking out more?"

She shrugged, and took another step up the mountain they had decided to climb. "Yeah. No. Maybe? I don't know. There's not a guidebook on how you should react to shitty things."

He grabbed a branch, shaking the snow onto her head, she squawked and turned around to glare at him. He grinned. "I'll be sure to put a chapter or two on that subject in my manual."

She kicked a haze of snow at him, then darted behind a tree for cover. He scooped up a snowball, and heaved it in her direction. It hit her in the chest, and he doubled over in laughter. She hissed, and ran at him, knocking him over. She ended up straddling him.

He felt the blush spread from his toes to the top of his head.

"The light—" He started.  
"I have a fiancé." She said at the same time.

He frowned as she slid off him. "Sorry, what was that?"

She crossed her legs and sighed. "The reason I was on the plane was to go see my fiancé, Sterling."

He didn't know why she was telling him this. "Um, congratulations?"

She pulled the end of her braid. "I love him, so, this—" she made a motion between the two of them. "—this can't happen."

Oh. _Oh._ "Clarke, I never—where did you, I've never—"

She nodded, awkward. "Oh, well, ok, good. That's good." She stood, and began walking again.

\---

He flickered out of existence again two days later, but he was still there. He could hear Clarke scream his name, hear her begin to run in the other direction. It was nothing like last time, still scary as fuck, but not paralyzing. When he followed her, he appeared again.

"Clarke!" He choked out, gasping at the fresh air suddenly hitting his lungs.

Footsteps hurtled towards him, and crouched in front of his trembling body. She moved to touch him, but he squirmed away. "D—Don't."

She nodded, pulling her hand back. "Where did you go? How are you back?"

He cradled his now aching head in his hands. "It wasn't really a place, it was—more like a feeling. Emptiness, loneliness, you know, all the warm fuzzy ones."

She didn't laugh. "We've both gotten more and more transparent as we've traveled, maybe when we get a certain distance away from our bodies, we disappear."

He agreed. "Our bodies are our tethers, keeping us here." Then he groaned.

"What? What's wrong?" Clarke said, slightly frantic.

"We have to go back." He moaned.

She huffed and shoved him. "You do realize you're a ghost, you don't get tired?"

He stood. "Yes, I do realize. I just have sympathy for human me."

She rolled her eyes, and they made their way back to the crash site.

\---

Neither of them talked about how they weren't getting any more solid as they walked, neither of them wanted to acknowledge it.

"So," she said. "What about you?"

He ducked under a branch. "What about me?"

"What were you doing on the plane?"

He sighed, and didn't respond for a moment. "Coming home from my sisters wedding."

"You don't sound very happy about it." She said, hopping over a log.

He cupped the back of his neck, wincing at the memory. "I wasn't supposed to go home so early, but my sister and I had a fight. And she told me to leave."

"Fight about what?"

When he hesitated, she backtracked quickly. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me."

He shook his head. "No, no. It's fine, it's really not a big deal. She's my little sister, so I didn't want her to get married. And I was kind of a dick about it."

She snorted. "You? A dick? That's hard to believe."

He held out his foot, and she tripped over it. But she was still giggling as she glared at him. "Anyways, I was being a poor sport, and she told me to get on the next plane."

Clarke huffed a laugh. "Just your luck that the next plane was one that crashed."

He guffawed. "Yeah, fates really looking after me."

He looked at her in time to see her smile, and to see it slip off her face.

"Clarke?"

She pointed, and he followed her gaze.

"Holy fuck." He breathed.

They were at the clearing, and the plane was still there, but their bodies were gone. All of the bodies were.

She began to flip shit, of course. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, someone ate us. An animal _ate_ us! The bones too! Oh my god, I think I'm going to be sick."

She sat down on a stump, putting a hand to her forehead. He crouched in front of her. "Clarke, if someone ate us we would be dead, and I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

She nodded. "Right, yes, okay. So, what happened?"

He rised, and looked around the clearing. "I'd say we got rescued."

Instead of relaxing like he expected her to, her eyes widened in fear. "If we got rescued, that means our bodies are being taken away from us. Bellamy—"

He nodded, understanding. "If they get any farther, we're going to disappear."

Clarke scowled. "Have I mentioned that I hate being a ghost?"

He shrugged. "Once or twice."

\---

"Am I more solid or see through?"

She tilted her head. "A little to the right, no, too far. A little to the left. Too far _again_ , a little to the right—Bellamy, a little does not mean the biggest step you can possibly take."

He huffed and shuffled in the directions she said. "There! There! You got more solid!" She squealed, clasping her hands.

She came over to where he was, and as she did, her features became more defined. They were headed in the right direction.

"So," He began. "Tell me about Sterling."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Um, ok. He's very sweet, and thoughtful. He works a lot, so sometimes we don't see each other a lot."

"Oh yeah? What does he do?"

She tugged at the end of her braid. "Ah, he's a journalist."

He raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "That's cool. How long have you guys been together?"

"Six months."

He choked. She gave him a dirty look. "What?"

He tried to compose himself. "That's, it's just—that's not very long. And you're engaged."

She crossed her arms, defensive. "So? Is there a set time you have to wait for until you can get married?"

He crossed his too. "Of course not, but six months is barely enough time to get to know someone, let alone decide whether or not you want to spend the rest of your life with them."

She let out a humorless laugh. "And what would you know about it? Not all of us need to be asshats to see if someone likes us."

His nostrils flared. "At least I don't assume that everyone has a fucking crush on me like some entitled brat."

"And what," she spat. "Is that supposed to mean? I just didn't want to lead you on, I was doing the right thing!"

They had stopped walking, both too occupied in their shouting match to continue on.

He pointed a finger at her. "That's the kind of shit I'm talking about! Who says you were leading me on—"

She groaned. "Fuck! Fine! Bellamy, I am sorry for assuming and thinking to spare your possible feelings. It's clear to me now that you don't have any at all. Really, I apologize for thinking otherwise."

His jaw ticked. "Fuck you, Clarke."

Her smirk was venomous. "And here I thought you wanted nothing like that from me."

He didn't reply, just turned on his heel and started walking again. He clenched his fists, he wanted to punch something. How did she do that? How did she get under his skin so easily? Why did he let her? If it was possible, his nails would have bit into skin by now.

They didn't talk for a long time.

\---

It almost happened too fast to track what was going on. One second, Clarke was sulking beside him, and then her foot had slipped off the cliff and he was screaming her name, grabbing her arm and yanking her into his chest.

She was shaking, and he rubbed her back. She didn't pull away in time, and the light hit both of them without warning. But he expected it to happen, and when she tried untangle herself from his arms, he held on tighter.

The light was just as blinding and burning as before, but after a while, it began to fade. And then he was standing on—on a plane.

He was watching the crash happen as if it was a movie, he saw himself grab Clarke's hand, he saw the plane start to fall—

Clarke jerked out of his arms, and the memory vanished.

He flared his nostrils, annoyed. "What are you—"

She huffed. "We don't know what will happen if we watch it all. We don't even know what that was!"

He pulled at his hair, exasperated. "Exactly! Maybe watching it makes us wake up!"

She cocked a hip. "Or maybe watching it gives us closure, and makes us move on. Ever think of that?"

He sighed. "No."

She nodded once. "So let's just leave it alone."

He bit his tongue to keep from arguing, he was tired of it, and she was right anyways.

He started to walk again, but her voice stopped him. "Bellamy? I, um, thanks for saving me."

He glanced between her and the cliff, then nodded. "Not like you would have gone anywhere."

He began walking again, and she caught up to him, keeping in pace with him. "I'm sorry, Bellamy, I shouldn't have said those things to you. And I shouldn't have assumed—"

He quickly shook his head, letting his defensive front come down. "God, don't apologize for that. That was—I was, out of line. I'm sorry, too."

She smiled a little. "You really know how to get me riled up."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I could say the same about you."

\---

After nearly a week of hiking, they finally arrived in Ark. They both figured that since there families were here, that's where their bodies would be too. And with their state getting increasingly more solid, they had a good feeling about it.

"Isn't it funny how you and my sister have lived in the same city for who knows how long and we've never seen each other?"

She dodged a bicycle. "Yes. It is. Except for that day you stole my cab."

He pulled her out of the way of a taxi and quickly dropped her hand. "First of all, it was my cab. And second of all, technically I didn't steal it because we shared it. So there."

"Very mature."

He ducked into his sisters apartment building and jogged up the stairs. Clarke was muttering something similar to where are the goddamn elevators.

He got to her floor in time to see her door open, but it wasn't Octavia who walked out. He slapped a hand over his face. "Fuck."

Clarke stood beside, clearly trying to mask her labored breath. "What?"

He sighed. "I totally blanked, my sister got _married._ She moved in with her husband. She doesn't live here anymore."

She stared at the apartment door. "Fuck."

He stomped back down the stairs. "You're telling me."

\---

"So? What do we do now?" She asked, as he paced up and down the sidewalk.

He looked at her, and saw that she trusted him. Trusted him to make the right decision and get them out of this mess, no one had felt that way about him in a long time. He hadn't felt that way about himself in much longer. But as he stared at her, he realized she made him trust himself, made him laugh harder than he thought was possible, and ultimately, kept him sane. _Fuck_ , he thought, _I like her. Maybe more than like. Fucking fuck._

He was about to suggest that maybe they should start searching the hospitals, when suddenly, the world started to crumble.

It gave way to a hospital room, and he blinked at the brightness.

"Bellamy? Bellamy!" Octavia said from beside his bed, and took his hand.

He forced a weak smile, but inside, he was panicking. _I'm forgetting something, this isn't right. I'm supposed to be somewhere._

Octavia brushed the hair away from his forehead. "You were in a plane crash. Do you remember anything?"

He tried to salvage up any memory, but he came up short. He shook his head. "I remember getting on the plane, but that's it."

_What am I forgetting?_


	2. Clarke

She screamed his name until she was hoarse, even then she managed to croak it into the empty street.

She knew ghosts couldn't be hurt, but then what was that seemingly gaping hole in her chest? She let out a sob, and caved in on herself, sliding down the wall to sit on the sidewalk.

_He's dead. He's dead. He said he wouldn't leave and now he's fucking dead._

Her breaths came out in short gasps, she knew she had to calm down, she had to think rationally about this. But she couldn't, she _couldn't_ , not when Bellamy was dead and gone and she'd never see him again and she was all alone. She sobbed into her hand, then laughed humorlessly, no one could hear her anyway.

Someone—Someone was touching her. Someone was stroking her arm.

She jerked her head up, hoping against all odds that it was Bellamy. Her stomach plummeted when she looked into green eyes instead of brown ones. She squirmed away, not knowing how she was being seen and still in shock. "Who are you? How can you see me?"

The girl smiled sympathetically. "I'm Lexa, I'm a shadow too."

Clarke frowned. "A shadow? I'm not a shadow, I'm a _ghost_. I'm _dying_."

Lexa sat cross legged in front of her, and the pose reminded her so much of Bellamy that more tears began to trickle down her face. Lexa took her hands, and Clarke realized how utterly cold she felt. Lexa seemed to radiate heat, and she allowed herself to be touched even as the hole in her chest ached.

Lexa began to explain. "There are three kinds of spirits, the beams, the ones that are alive. The ghosts, the ones that are dead. And the shadows, like us, that are in between."

She wiped at her eyes. "Well, I want to be a ghost. I have had it up to here with this shadow shit."

Lexas smile was small. "Wouldn't you rather become a beam? See your family again?"

Clarke found herself shaking her head. _Not without Bellamy, I don't._ "If we had of just stayed put, if I hadn't let him convince me to leave, if we just had of been there when our bodies were rescued—"

She furrowed her brow. "Who's we?"

Clarke sniffed. "Bellamy. We—We were in a plane crash, and it had been a week with no sign of being rescued. He wanted to go—to get closure, but if we just had of _stayed_ , maybe I would have been able to save him. Maybe he wouldn't be gone." She took her hands back from Lexa and buried her face in them.

Then, her head snapped up with realization. "How come you can touch me? Where's the big blinding light?" She made a gesture with her hand.

Lexa sighed, as if Clarke was a child who had just asked what a VCR was. "That's called a mirage. If you and another person became a shadow during the same incident, reliving the memory will cause you to move on. We haven't almost died together, so we don't have that connection."

She felt the smallest twinge of triumph at being right, but it was immediately squashed when she realized it didn't matter. He wasn't there to rub his face in it. "How do you know so much about this?"

"I used to be a witch. Before a demon possessed me, that's how I became a shadow." Lexa said this as if it was completely normal.

Her jaw was slack. "I'm sorry, what did you just say? A demon? Possessed you? What?"

Lexa smirked. "What? There can be ghosts and shadows but no witches or demons? You have to believe in it all, Clarke, not just what seems the least frightening."

She stood, and began to melt away, but Clarke jumped up and grabbed her arm, bringing her back. "You asked if I wanted to become a beam, is there a way? A way to wake up?" Her chest throbbed when she thought about waking up to a world with no Bellamy in it, but if there was a way, it couldn't hurt to ask.

Lexa gave her hand a squeeze, then pried it off her forearm. "You have to trust yourself."

She was gone before Clarke could think to ask how she knew her name.

\---

Trust herself. _Trust herself?_ What the fuck was that supposed to mean? She did trust herself, she always went with her gut, never doubted herself. _You have to trust yourself. Trust yourself._

She ambled aimlessly around Ark, face raw from crying even though there was no sign of it on her cheeks.

_I'm a shadow, too. Wouldn't you rather be a beam? It's called a mirage._

Lexas words tumbled around in her mind, refusing to leave. She yanked a hand through her hair, undoing the braid she'd had for weeks now.

She missed her dad. He'd know exactly what to do, how to decipher the riddle, how to calm Clarke down. She hugged her middle and pretended it was his arms.

She didn't want to think about Bellamy, but his face swam to the front of her mind anyway. Her mind went back to that snowball fight, how she'd blurted out about Sterling. She had wanted to protect Bellamy, from her path of destruction, the one that got her dad killed. The one that in the end hurt Bellamy and killed him no matter how hard she tried to shield him from it.

 _You ruin everything you touch_ , Finn had spat at her during the fight that had ended their relationship. _You don't know what you're doing with your life, you make wrong decisions._ Her mom had told her gently when she decided to major in art instead of medicine.

The worst part of it all, was that they were right. They didn't believe in her, and she sure as hell didn't believe in herself.

_You have to trust yourself._

She stopped walking. "Trust myself. _Trust_ myself, of course!"

She had always blamed herself for her fathers death, she was the reason he was out on the road that day, to pick her up from school.

She heard Bellamys voice in her head, telling her that she couldn't have known a drunk driver was going to run a red light. Telling her that it was his decision to get drunk and then get in his car. She had heard it from nearly everyone, but when it was in Bellamys voice...

She could begin to believe it.

She had never forgiven herself for disappointing her mom after switching to art. For ruining the dream that she had had of the two of them.  
  
_But what about your dream?_ Bellamys voice whispered.

She had been the reason that Finn cheated on Raven, the reason Raven lost the love of her life. If Finn had never met her—

Bellamys voice was a growl now, _that douche had it fucking coming, that's not on you. He chose to hurt both of you, it wasn't your decision._

She waited for something to happen, a door to appear or a giant hole to open in the middle of the street at hearing her revelation.

But she was still there. She obviously didn't trust herself yet.

_What am I forgetting?_

\---

She visited her apartment, where Sterling had taken to sleeping in. Her cat, Moxy, was much fatter than she remembered. And she scowled a little when she saw Sterling feeding her scraps under the table.

She wandered around the city, the crater in her chest never ceasing its dull gnawing.

She attempted to haunt people, moving things around, knocking things over, drawing dicks on their pets. Surprisingly, she eventually got bored.

She broke things. She threw things against walls and smashed them into the floor. She was angry, why didn't she die? Why didn't she live? Why did she have to be in between? Why the fuck didn't ghosts eat?

She carried on in this unhealthy routine for weeks, driving herself mad with trying to trust herself.

Until, she saw him.

He was there, getting coffee, ruffling a girls hair, dodging cars as he crossed the street.

"Bellamy." She breathed, already darting vehicles and people to get to him. He walked into a shop, and she followed him.

_He's alive, he's alive, he's alive. He's okay, he didn't die. He's alive. I didn't—I didn't kill him._

She reached out, wanting to see if she could touch him. But before she could, the world began to collapse and Bellamy disappeared.

She blinked, and then squinted. _Why is it so bright? Where am I?_

"Clarke? Clarke, oh my god, you're awake. Doctor!"

She attempted to sit up. _Ow. Ow. Ow._ "Sterling?"

He was at her side immediately, stroking her face and smiling. "Hey, baby, you were in a plane crash. Do you remember?"

Glimpses of trees coming far too close far too fast flooded her mind. Someone comforting her, someone taking her hand. A horrible, deafening screech as her plane hit the ground—

She shuddered. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember."

He grimaced, and rubbed her arm. "You've been out of it for a long time. Almost two months."

She raised her eyebrows in shock, but somehow, she already knew that. It didn't feel as if the plane crash had just happened, it felt as if—as if she was missing something.

\---

She was released a few days after she woke up, her wounds had mostly healed while she was in the coma, but the doctors still wanted her to take it easy.

Sterling continued to pester her about the crash, any last details he could squeeze out of her.

"Why do you care so much?" She snapped one day, then rubbed her temples, she was getting a migraine.

Sterling looked like a kicked puppy. "No reason, Clarke." He looked back to his computer screen and typed something in.

She narrowed her eyes, and snatched the laptop away from him. What she saw made her especially glad they had decided to postpone the wedding. "Are you _writing_ about my crash?"

He grabbed at the computer, trying to take it back. She held it out of reach, snapping at him to get talking. He flailed, trying to explain. "This article could get me a big promotion, Clarke, I thought—"

She growled. "You thought you could use my traumatic experience to get you in with your boss? What the fuck, Sterling."

He quickly shook his head. "It's not like that!"

She stood, ignoring the pain in her head to pace. "Of course it's like that! What other way could it be!? You're—I can't believe you thought I'd be ok with this!"

He stood too. "Clarke, I didn't—I didn't mean to hurt you."

She glared. "Because you thought I'd never find out." She shook her head in disgust. "You know what, Sterling? We're done. Get out."

His eyes widened. "Clarke, don't you think that's a little extreme? Let's talk about this—"

"I never loved you!" She shouted, not quite done realizing it herself before the words were out of her mouth. She swallowed. "We rushed into this. I shouldn't have said yes to your proposal."

His hands hung at his sides, defeated. He packed up the few things he had at her place wordlessly, and then he left.

Sleep came to her easier that night.

\---

She felt lighter than she had in years, her classes were a breeze, she got a job at an art studio a few blocks away from her apartment. She felt _good_.

But something still wasn't quite right, she felt as if something was off. And try as she may to fucking think or remember what it was—she couldn't. And it was constantly putting a damper on her good mood. It was irritating.

\---

"Ok, mom. Yep, love you too. Goodbye." She hung up her phone as she stepped onto the bus. There were plenty of empty seats, but she didn't really feel like sitting.

She nodded to the freckled skin man standing at the other end of the bus when she caught his eye. He held her gaze for a long beat, then looked out the window.

 _Ok, weirdo._ She put in her head phones and tapped her foot to the beat that poured out of them.

Suddenly, the bus swerved out of nowhere, and she lost her balance. She was thrown to the other end of the bus, but before she could fall, his hand reached out and yanked her into his chest.

 _Woah, dèjá vu._ Her head was spinning, but as she looked into his warm brown eyes, she felt a tug low in her belly. Something familiar. Something she had felt before.

Reality caught up with him first, and he grunted, releasing her from his arms. He didn't meet her eyes.

"Sorry!" The driver called. "Stupid goddamn bicycle."

She glanced back at the man, and bit her lip to contain her smile at seeing the blush creeping over his features. "Thanks. You totally saved my life."

He glanced at her, and gave her a small smile. "You wouldn't have gone anywhere anyway."

Dèjá vu hit her again, but she smiled, getting off the bus at her stop.

It rushed back to her in a dream.

Her crouching over her own body, laughing with him, making a flower crown, fighting with him, climbing a mountain, trying to fight her feelings for him, thinking he was dead, trusting herself. Him making her trust herself.

She had been a shadow, and she had come back.

Bellamy. _Bellamy_. His name and the feel of his touch thrummed though her, making her heart beat faster and louder in her chest.

She sprang out of bed, tugging on her clothes as she stepped out the door. She had to find him, she had to see if he remembered.

She bounded down the stairs, just as he opened the lobby door.

He paused, then grinned when he saw her. "Do you know how many Clarke Griffins live in ark?"

She grinned, too. "How many?"

He clicked his tongue as he gave her a once over. "Far too many."

His eyes landed on her hand, on her bare ring finger. "You're not wearing a ring."

She looked down at it, and yanked he gaze back up to his face. "No, I'm not."

He took a step closer. "Remember that fight we had? And all that fucking dumb shit I said about not liking you like that?"

She stepped closer. "I seem to recall something about it, yeah."

He closed the distance between them, and cupped her jaw. "Well I was a fucking dumbass. I like you like that. A lot."

Her heart soared, and she put her hands on his hips, tugging him closer. "Glad you've finally succumbed to my undeniable charms."

He snorted. "Glad you're still as humble as ever."

She bumped her nose against his. "Shut up and kiss me already."

He grinned again, then at a snail pace, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. She pushed her hips into his, and tucked her fingers into his hair. He groaned into her mouth and sped up the kiss, walking her backwards until her back hit the wall. His hands rucked up her shirt, and hers dived under his jacket to touch his stomach.

He pulled away, panting slightly. The look he gave her was so fond and full of love, it warmed her all the way to her toes.

He brushed a piece of hair away from her face. "You were what I was forgetting."

She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, he tucked his chin into her shoulder and breathed her in.

She sighed, content. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the first fic that hasn't ended in them banging


End file.
